Gravitation
by Arukewari
Summary: Edward, presumed dead, comes back from Iraq after 6 years. Can single mother Bella ever forgive him for leaving? AU. All Human.
1. Prologue

**A/N Summary: Edward, presumed dead, comes back from Iraq after 6 years. Can single mother Bella forgive him for leaving? AU. All human.**

**Disclaimer: All the characters used in this story are created and owned by Stephenie Meyer, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Twilight. This fanfiction is for entertainment purposes only and is not part of the official story line. I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story. I am grateful to Ms Meyer for her wonderful story, without which this story would not exist.**

**Warning: All human and AU. I changed some of the character's history to make it fit with the whole 'All human thing'. I put M-rated just in case, especially for later chapters. **

* * *

It could have been worse.

I mean, it's not like she set him on fire or anything.

Or so I tell myself as I breathe in deeply and try to justify my daughter's recent altercation with a classmate. I didn't need this right now.

"Ms Swan." My daughter's homeroom teacher calls my attention back to her. "Do you think, perhaps, that Renesmee's behavior is a reflection on the … 'instability' she experiences at home?"

"She just stole a couple of crayons," I say, ignoring the '_and tried to stab the boy's hand with it_' bit.

"Yes, well, it is unacceptable behaviour, as I've explained. Please _try_ and talk to her." The doubtful tone makes me cringe slightly.

"Are you calling me a bad mother?" I ask. Not that I cared about her opinion, really. Renesmee was the one thing I got right.

She frowns and I can tell that her answer is yes.

"Of course not, but perhaps a father figure or…" she trails off.

I smile tightly. "I'll keep that in mind."

Outside the classroom, Renesmee is sitting with her legs swinging and a red backpack on her shoulders. The pre-school is empty this time of night and the automatic lights on the other side of the corridor have already flickered off. The journey home is eerily quiet.

"Mum, am I in trouble?" Renesmee asks as soon as the door to our cramped two-bedroom apartment shuts behind us.

Her voice sounds small and I crouch down to look at her startling green eyes that never fail to remind me of her father.

"Yes you are young lady," I say sternly. "What were you thinking, stealing from that boy? I thought I taught you better than that."

She looks down at her feet, hunching her small shoulders, but her voice comes out defensive. "I didn't steal. He said mean things about you. He had no right."

When did my daughter become so mature? I swear I was never this righteous as a 5 year old.

"Look, people say mean things sometimes but if you respond to them, you're just sinking down to their level."

I can tell she doesn't completely understand what I'm saying.

"I won't let him insult my family."

I sigh. "You will apologize to him tomorrow, understand?"

"No."

"Renesmee," I warn but she just shakes her head, her braids whipping comically around her head.

"Listen to me – "

"No," she yells. "You can't make me!"

With that, she runs off into her room and slams the door shut behind her.

I close my eyes for a moment and take a few deep breaths. I'm still wearing my waitress uniform under my raincoat and its tight grip on my waist is suffocating.

I mentally add 'buy bigger uniform' on my expanding checklist of 'things I have to do when I get the chance' but I knew I couldn't really afford it right now, and my dad wasn't exactly crapping money as a police man in the crime-less city of Forks. Not that I ever borrowed from him, or anyone else.

And it wasn't this atrocious neon orange outfit that was going to push me to the dark side.

Dinner was a quiet affair. Renesmee was still sulking but I manage to get her to finish her carrots without too much fuss.

"Why don't you explain to him _why_ you got so angry," I suggest, pushing the blank A4 sheet in front of her.

"Because he said mean things about you," she repeats stubbornly, a frown crinkling her forehead. "Said you were ugly, said that's why daddy left."

I barely contain the wince that slips through my teeth.

"Mum… why don't I have a daddy?"

Renesmee looks up from scribbling colourful, rather meaningless, lines and I'm overwhelmed with how much I love her, and how much I wish to protect her, and tell her the truth about her father. But _I_ didn't really know the complete truth and barely understood the bits Edward had told me. Possibly because it had been so sudden and unexpected.

One day Edward's telling me he wants to get married, the next he's going to fight a war in Iraq with his brothers.

The day I find out I'm pregnant two months later, he's MIA. It took me three days to type out those three letters in a Google search bar and find out what it means.

Missing in Action.

Killed, wounded, prisoner of war or deserted.

Almost 6 years later, I'm trying to explain to my daughter why her father left me, us, to die half-way across the world.

_I don't know_. It was the only honest answer I could give her, but she would never accept it.

"Before you were born," I start hesitantly, choosing my words carefully, "your daddy went to fight in a war."

"What's 'war'?"

"It's like a fight, but between countries."

"Like between Tom and me? Did daddy not write a sorry letter? Is that why he's in heaven?"

"Tom and I," I correct her, mostly out of habit, but partially because I don't know how to answer. "It's more complicated than that. Even I – ,"

The buzz of the doorbell interrupts me.

"Why don't you finish your letter in your room, here." I give her a new piece of paper. "And I'll just see who's at the door."

"You have to finish the story."

"Later," I answer tiredly and the strong tilt of her jaw tells me she will hold me to that promise.

I wasn't really expecting anyone, but Jacob did have the odd habit of dropping by unannounced, almost like he could sense when I needed a drink, or someone to cry on.

And my daughter had just opened an old wound.

I knock into a chair as I stumble to the door. I resist the urge to swear, instead nursing the blooming bruise on my hip bone. I'm still grimacing slightly in pain when I open the door.

Standing there, with his perpetually messy bronze hair and green eyes, is Renesmee's father.

"Edward?"

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**A/N Review?**


	2. Adjustment

Chapter 1 – Adjustment

**A/N I'm thankful to all of the reviewers and their helpful advice which I took into consideration when writing this next chapter. I jumped up and down at the thought of my story being appreciated outside of my head. **

**Disclaimer: All the characters used in this story are created and owned by Stephenie Meyer, and I do not claim any ownership over them or the world of Twilight. This fanfiction is for entertainment purposes only and is not part of the official story line. I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story. I am grateful to Ms Meyer for her wonderful story, without which this story would not exist.**

* * *

"Earth to Bella."

I smile guiltily at Jacob who has one large hand stretched towards my face in an attempt to garner attention.

"What's the matter?" he asks with a lopsided grin. Leaning against the hood of his latest trophy car, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his overalls as he waits for customers, Jacob reminds me of … normalcy, of childhood. The rain beating against our shivering bodies as we sort through wreckages for car parts, the stink of tarmac and petrol, the sand slipping between my toes as he hollers at the empty sea, the salt-infused wind garbling his sentences until most of it is lost before they reach my ears.

"Sorry," I blink out of my reverie. "I'm just a little – "

" – distracted," he finishes for me, quirking a brow.

"An old friend came to visit me last night," I say carefully, and try not to let a snort slip out at 'old friend'.

"Old friend," Jacob chuckles, clearly not fooled. "Could you be more specific?"

I sink down, arranging my limbs until I am cross-legged with my back leaning against the wall. Even with my eyes closed, I can still feel Jacob's presence beside me. The mental walls I erected to prevent myself from thinking about last night are slowly knocked down and when Jacob wraps warm, heavy arms around my shoulder with a whispered 'tell me what's wrong, baby', the words and memories and tears come flooding out.

* * *

"_What are you … I don't understand," I say, after Edward fails to speak or move at all. His stare is incredulous, disbelieving, as though he's the one to find his dead ex-fiancée on his doorsteps. _

_My body feels like lead. My legs are suddenly too long, my head too heavy._

"_I don't … what are you doing here?" I could hear my voice, but the words didn't feel like mine. My eyes trace his face, those cheekbones, those black bruises under his eyes that I'd spent many nights kissing away, wishing away the horrors that had etched them there._

"_Bella," he finally speaks and I'm surprised at the rage, at the complete and utter fury that both drowns and inflames me. "Can I come in?" he asks._

"_No." My voice cuts through the syrup-thick tension between us. _

"_Sorry?" Edward's eyes widen ever so slightly and I had loved this man long and hard enough to understand the confusion in his gaze and the regret leaching out of his pores. _

"_No, you can't come in," I hiss, clenching my hands until crescent-shaped cuts well with blood. "I thought you were… Christ, they told me you were _dead._" I wasn't going to think about that night Edward went from 'Missing In Action' to 'Presumed Dead'. I wasn't going to remember the icy grief that froze my veins and drove me to… I take a deep breath that did nothing to steady my fluttering heart. The echo of those memories is painful enough; I can't bear ripping them apart for examination. __"You can't come back here and just barge into my life like nothing's changed. Everything's changed."_

"_You're right," Edward says, stepping back as my fingers close around the edge of the door. His gaze falters and drops to his feet. "I just figured… I thought I owed you an explanation."_

_I nod, accepting that. "You did. 6 years ago."_

* * *

Sobs wreck my chest as I curl into a ball with my head on Jacob's chest. His reassuring, incomprehensible babble wash over me.

"Jacob," I whisper, clutching his shirt tighter. Only he knows that Edward coming back threatens the very foundation on which I'd built my new life. That Edward destroyed me when he left and carved scars that still bled my shattered dreams and overwhelming guilt.

"Shh. Everything'll be fine." He rocks me against his chest and I don't need him to finish his sentence… _because I'm here._

A buzz vibrates in my pocket. Disentangling myself, I flip open my phone to Angela Weber's erratic voice.

"I'm so sorry Bella, I don't how it happened. My mother came to visit and I completely misread the time and oh god, I'm _so_ sorry – "

"What's wrong with her?" I interrupt. Renesmee. Thoughts of Edward flee my mind as I focus on Angela's voice.

"I don't know where she is," Angela sobbed. "I went to pick her up at school, and she wasn't there. The teachers don't know where she went either. I was only – "

I'm already on my feet as I listen to her hysteric babble, and Jacob shifts from foot to foot as he interprets what happened from my side of the conversation. I twitch my mouth in a semblance of a smile, trying not to let fear overtake me.

"I'm sure she's fine," I say. "Look, could you check my apartment? I'll go to the beach and around town. Call me if you find her."

She agrees with a promise and the phone goes dead in my hand.

"Nessie," Jacob states, rather than asks and I nod grimly.

"Damn it," I whisper under my breath, running a hand through my hair. Jacob is already in motion, setting up the car and bike, and closing up the garage for the rest of the day.

"You don't have to –"

"Yes I do." He throws me the car keys. "She's probably just wandered off when no one came to pick her up so she shouldn't be far. I'll check the beach."

I nod, starting up the engine. With one hand on the hood of the car Jacob says, "Call me if you hear anything."

"I Promise."

The car whines when I gun the cold engine. My heart presses against my throat as I notice the icy tracks, but refuse to slow down with thoughts of Renesmee terrifying me more than the potential deathtrap that is this car.

_Damn it, Renesmee. Where the hell are you?_

Determined not to panic before I have reason to, I twiddle with the radio for some calming music. With Edward appearing and Renesmee disappearing, I wouldn't be surprised if my heart stuttered to a stop from all the erratic shocks I've been enduring.

I reach my hand out as my phone buzzes.

"Hey dad."

'_What happened?'_ From the tense tone, I knew Angela must have called him.

I shrug instinctively. "I don't know. I'm on my way to school now."

'_Do you want to me come with you? I can look around – '_

Before he could finish his sentence, my feet hit the brakes. The tires lose their grip on the friction-less tarmac, the car swinging back even as my tense hands attempt to steer the car. For one moment, my hands go as cold as the tracks and my heart stops beating.

And in another, everything is still again, except for the howling wind and the beating of my heart.

_Christ, it's a good thing steady, sturdy hearts are a family trait. _

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

I freeze as I recognize the voice from the silver Volvo skidding to a stop dangerously close to my car. Picking up the phone emitting a mantra of my name, I tell my dad in a rush: 'I'll call you later, I'm fine, my radio went weird for a moment and I got distracted, everything's fine' and cut off the call.

"Are you crazy? Stopping like that in the middle of the road. I was this close to… Bella?" Edward suddenly stops speaking as he finds himself close enough to see the 'crazy' driver.

And now le looks at me, all tense and worried, like he has the right to be anything but cool detachment personified.

"What are you doing?" he asks again more gently. "Hang on, are you crying?"

I roll my eyes and sniff. My cheeks feel cold as the wind sails pass the remnants of salty tears slipping down my face. Edward couldn't do this to me. He couldn't look all caring and noble and so much like the man I fell in love with.

"Bella, love, what's wrong?"

I wipe my face on my sleeve. "Nothing." Ignoring his sarcastic '_well, clearly'_ look, I ask, "What are you doing here?"

"Hmm? I was on my way to see Black," he answers, rather absentmindedly, still looking at me in the way he always does, like he would take down the moon for me.

"Jacob?" I ask, finally registering what he said. "Why?"

He shifts his gaze. Having no time to understand what he wants with Jacob, of all people, or interpret his shifty attitude I reach for the keys.

"Woah, what are you doing?"

"Starting up the car," I state. _What else? _A bomb must have fallen on his head in Iraq because I don't remember him being this slow on the uptake.

"Are you kidding? It almost killed you."

Um no, it didn't.

"Its fine, I'll be more careful."

Edward rolls his eyes. "Leave your car here. I'll drive you."

An odd expression crosses his face, mirrored by mine I'm sure, as a sense of déjà-vu takes over me. That night we first kissed, his silver Volvo – new at the time – whirring with the effort of blasting heat, our clothes still wet from the flooding rain outside, the soft pressure of his warm lips capturing mine in a kiss so tender, so achingly sweet, that sharp tingles sweep over my body from the tip of my head to my ten toes.

Realizing the validity of his worry, I step out of the car. For once it isn't raining in Forks though great bulging clouds drape over the town. 'Clair de Lune' wafts out of the radio of his car and Edward switches it off. It was tempting fate, to play that piece now.

"Where to?" he asks.

"Winchester Park. Near the primary school."

"Any particular reason?" he asks casually, signaling left as he pulls out.

"I'm looking for my daughter," I say, looking at him from my periphery for a reaction. I get one. Color suffuses out of his cheeks, rendering them ashen pale.

"Daughter?" he chokes.

I don't respond.

"How old is she?"

"Five."

I can almost see the silent words forming in his mouth as he counts down the years. He doesn't need to. The moment he sees her, he'd figure out who she belongs to.

"You – we – have a daughter."

He doesn't ask it as a question but I answer anyway. "Yes."

With that one word I'm also saying, _'she's yours. I raised _our_ child.'_

He hesitates slightly and I know he's thinking of what question – out of the million buzzing in his head – to ask next. He settles for a simple one. "What's her name?"

"Renesmee. Renesmee Carlie Swan."

"Oh." It comes out as an exhale.

We sit in silence for the rest of the ride: him processing this new information, me accepting that becoming a parent overnight requires adjustment.

The lights of Winchester Park flicker on while I scan the area for Renesmee.

"Oh thank god," I gasp when I spot her on the plastic horse.

"Mum!"

Kneeling down, I open my arms to accommodate the small body propelling into me. Her bronze hair mingles with mine as I bury my face into the tiny crook where neck meets shoulder and breathe in the smell of coconut and dirt and paint.

"Mum, can't breathe!" she squeals.

Letting go of my death grip, I rock back on my heels to look at her. Except for the dirt on her cheek, she looks perfectly unharmed and I sigh in blissful relief. Jacob had been right.

_She's safe. Found her at the park, _I message everyone. When I look up Renesmee is watching Edward with a curious cock of her head.

"You know," she says. "You look a lot like my daddy in heaven."

Edward doesn't respond. Instead he glances at me fearfully, his body frozen stiff.

Renesmee waits patiently for a response but when none are forthcoming, she frowns at me. I was expecting him to say or do something, or move, anything, so I shrug at her.

"Um," he finally says, swallowing sharply. "I guess I should drive you both home."

* * *

"I don't like carrots." Renesmee wrinkles her nose.

Sitting at the kitchen table, a red and white checkered cloth spread over the top to hide the bumps and bruises littered across the wood, Renesmee throws a glare at the carrots in the dish. I can't help glancing at Edward and think of how domestic we look; when in reality we – Renesmee, Edward and I – are as dysfunctional as families get.

"To tell you the truth, I'm not a fan of them either," Edward tells her, serving himself to leftover chicken. The wink he throws at her both pleases and angers me. On the one hand I appreciate that he is her father and that they should get along, on the other, Renesmee is mine. I bite my lower lip, refusing to be jealous at the thought of my daughter preferring Edward over me.

When Renesmee invited Edward for dinner, I didn't have the heart or a valid reason to say no. Now, as I sit here, with the two bonding over _carrots_ of all things, I kind of wish I had whipped up a reasonable excuse.

"See, I always knew Mum was lying when she said all adults liked carrots but I could never prove it."

"You always knew I was lying did you? And how is that?" I ask Renesmee in a joking manner, serving cut-up chicken breast peeled from the bones, and a couple of boiled, unrefined vegetables on her designated plate.

"Um hum." She nods. "Uncle Jake confideded –"

" – confided," I correct and she frowns at my interruption.

"_Confided_ in me. Said not everyone liked carrots, not even all the adults."

"And you believed him?" Edward asks, flicking a questioning glance my way. I shrug, not bothering to analyze the odd look.

"'Course," Renesmee answers. "Uncle Jake never lies."

I smile at that. I should have known Jacob was a stronger competitor than Edward in the race for Renesmee's affection. My daughter had adored him from the moment she was placed in his arms, minutes after her birth.

After a lull in the conversation Renesmee says, "Sooo…" elongating the word, and I prepare for some awkward questioning. "Are you my daddy then?"

Edward chokes.

"Excuse me?" he splutters, grabbing his glass of water and beating his chest in a rather comical manner.

"Are you my daddy?" she repeats slowly as though Edward is a bit deaf, or retarded. "How did you come back from heaven? Mum said it was impossible to come back."

Edward places his cutlery down, balancing them on his plate. "Well," he starts. "I never actually went to heaven."

"Really?"

Edward nods.

"Then why did you leave?"

I can feel Edward's stare piercing me, but I avoid it, choosing instead to dedicate my concentration on mastication. The food doesn't look nearly as appetizing as it did five seconds ago.

"It's complicated," Edward says.

"I'm not stupid you know, I'll understand," Renesmee insists.

Edward smiles and shifts his green eyes away from me. "I'm sure you will, but it's so complicated I'm not even sure how to begin explaining myself."

"Oh. Well, figure it out," she demands and Edward ruffles her hair, making my heart twist.

"I'll try."

I abandon my attempt at finishing my food as curiosity – or rather, an urge to comprehend why Edward left – overwhelms me. While he may have found it inappropriate to discuss it with Renesmee, he might try and explain himself to me, if I asked. After all, that's why he dropped by my apartment yesterday.

The question that had tortured me for months could be answered with one simple, implicit '_why?'_. As I lean forward, with half-chewed carrots sitting in the back of my mouth, I realize that I won't ask. That I was too much of a coward to request for the answer, because Renesmee had changed me into a better person and I couldn't return to the insecure girl who cried herself to sleep every night.

"I think you should go," I say quietly as soon as Edward finishes his plate.

"What? Why?" Renesmee groans and I shoot her a look that silences her.

"No, your mum's right, I need to go anyway." He turns to me. "Thanks for dinner, Bella," he says with stiff formality that weeps with awkwardness.

"You're welcome," I nod back.

That night, I spent an inordinate amount of time doing the dishes.

* * *

**A/N so question: I was wondering whether I should continue doing Bella's POV for the whole story or include chapters in Edward's POV. Thoughts? Tell me in a review! Any thoughts on this chapter, feedback and advice are also greatly appreciated. **

**I promise to answer all reviews. If you bother writing a small (or large) comment, the least I can do is respond. Any questions are also welcome.**


	3. Defeat

Chapter 2 – Defeat

**A/N Note: I uploaded this chapter days ago, but then ff . net didn't actually upload it and then my computer crashed so this is way later than I'd hoped BUT if you're reading this then the chapter must have _finall__y _uploaded so thank god for that :)**

**Disclaimer: See Prologue**

* * *

_Picked up the car._

_Thx Jacob,_ I type back and glance at Angela, coming back from the kitchen with two cups of freshly-brewed, shudder-inducing strong coffee. She settles besides me at her dining table, exquisitely engraved mahogany. A wedding gift.

"So," she says, adding sugar to her cup. "I was talking to Jessica yesterday and apparently, the Cullens are back."

Even Angela – who was never one for gossip – couldn't resist engaging in the talks of the Cullens. Large adoptive family, genius father, beautiful mother, gifted kids, and of course the son who came back from the dead.

Talk about talented.

I burn my tongue and wince as the piping hot coffee crawls down my throat. "So I've heard."

"It seems like quite an incredible story you know, about Edward. To be honest though, considering Jessica was the messenger, I don't know how much of it is true."

I smirk. I'm sure she's recalling her own wedding day, and the mayhem caused when _someone_ said the groom had disappeared.

Despite myself, I ask, "So what's the story?"

"Well, according to Jessica, Edward disappeared behind enemy lines, _but_," she emphasizes the conjunction, "he saved the daughter of one of the Higher-Ups in exchange for his life."

"That's." I stare at her for a moment and burst out laughing. "completely ridiculous."

Angela giggles too, nursing her coffee. "I thought so too, but then again, how else would you explain him coming back from 'enemy territory' unscathed."

"Um," I say raising a brow. "I don't know, but come on, are you saying Edward went off like a gallant knight in shining armor, saving young maidens from fire-spitting dragons – well bombs – and,"

"Of course not," Angela says as I continue to convulse with laughter. Oh god, Edward galloping off into the sunset on a horse… the mental picture, priceless. "Come on, Bella, it's not that funny."

"That's because you're not imagining it."

Angela rolls her eyes and finishes her coffee, waiting for me to stop quaking like an epileptic. "So, _anyway_," she says in a '_moving on'_ tone, "the reason he couldn't write to anyone about his whereabouts and took so long to come back, was because the Father of the girl wanted him to get married to–"

Her words are drowned out by another wave of laughter. "Stop, you're killing me," I choke, wiping tears from my face.

"Oh shut up," Angela says, and playfully shoves my shoulder. She _must _see the absurdity of her story. This isn't Disney. Or, god forbid, a Soap.

"Ok, ok, I'm good." I take a deep breath, then press my curving lips together to prevent another bout of laughter escaping.

Angela looks at me for a moment, and her expression is grave enough that I tense up. "Did you get an original version from Edward?"

"Yep. He said the girl was pretty but he couldn't stand the size of her nostrils," I joke.

"Bella…"

If I refuse to answer, Angela would drop it, but … "He, um," I start, staring into the milk stains swirling the surface of my coffee, "came to visit me two nights ago, wanting to explain I think."

"And," Angela prompts.

"I slammed the door in his face."

Angela sighs. She knows me too well. Clearly that reaction was classically Bella, and she disapproves. Without even a word, she makes me feel like a child not fit enough to make my own decisions.

I squirm in my seat. "I don't think I want to hear him out."

"You have to listen to him." Angela places a hand on mine. "This… him leaving, him never writing… it's been torturing you."

I bite my lip. "I can't go back. I mean," I look up at her, pleading her to understand. "I don't want to fall in love with Edward again and what if he leaves … again. I've got Renesmee to think about now too."

Angela, grips my hand tighter and I can feel the cold metal of her wedding ring digging into my knuckle. "You never 'fell out' of love with Edward."

I whine in protest. "I don't love him anymore."

Don't kid yourself," she says sharply and I flinch. I've only ever heard her raise her voice once; to think I warranted such a reaction. In a softer voice, she adds, "He made you happy."

"I'm happy now."

"You were happier then. I've known you since, what, we were 10? 11? Those months with Edward made you the happiest woman alive."

I couldn't argue with that.

"I'm including myself in that statement too you know," she whispers.

I snap my head up. "What? But you and Ben – "

" – are perfect, and I absolutely adore him. But," she hesitates. "you and Edward, you two are soulmates."

"So are you and Ben."

"Yes, yes, but… I can't really explain it. There was always something different about you two. Something supernatural and almost magical I guess." She snorts. "Wow, I sound totally cheesy."

"Just a bit," I laugh, recognizing Angela's attempt at lightening the mood.

"But that's why you need to hear him out," Angela says. "Let him explain what happened in Iraq and in your relationship 6 years ago. Figure out what went wrong, and whether you can forgive him."

"I don't know if I can."

Angela drops my hand to reach for the crackers. "Why?"

"What?"

"Why?" she repeats. "I mean, I get that you were hurt and I'm not condoning his decision to leave, but his brothers were leaving to fight a war and I think, in his own way, he was trying to carve his own place in this world."

"But – "

" – _And_ he did come back. Most probably for you." Angela glances up from smoothing her fingers over the edge of the cracker. "What he did was terrible, but he's trying to atone for his mistakes and build something new with you. Or at least, _I _think so. Why else would he come back here?"

I could hear the truth in her words. It would be so much easier if I could forgive Edward, maybe marry him, raise Renesmee together.

But then I think of my pillow stained with tears, those unopened letters sent back from Iraq, the gulf in my heart and I smack into a wall I don't think I'll ever climb over. And even if I did haul myself up, there is the insurmountable guilt looming a shadow over every decision I make.

"I did something terrible," I admit for the first time in a mumbled murmur, "that night, when they told me Edward was dead."

"How terrible?" Angela asks in a hushed tone.

"Really, really terrible. Something I'll probably go to Hell for."

Angela doesn't speak so I continue. "I've been trying to deal with it, atone, like Edward I guess."

"Is it his fault?"

I shake my head once then shrug. "Maybe, I don't know. It's just so much easier to blame him. I can't deal with the possibility that it might all be my fault."

_And what if, after all this, he leaves me and it happens again?_

The afternoon sunlight has all but disappeared but Angela doesn't give any indication of wanting the lights switched on.

"Are you going to tell me what you did?" she asks.

"I don't…" I trail off.

"You don't have to," she says gently. "I'm just saying, I'm here for you and I'll listen."

"Thank you," I smile wanly. "I think I'll take you up on that offer sometime."

Angela stands and briskly starts clearing up the table. I help her stack the cups and transfer them to the kitchen. After some inconsequential chatter about dinner and work, I take my leave.

"Bella," she says as I'm donning my coat with a foot out of the door. "Promise me you'll think about talking to him."

I nod and walk out.

* * *

During the day I'm too busy to even think about Edward. At night though, fatigue-induced memories flood my head and I start remembering the old Edward, the gentleman who could have walked straight off the pages of an Austen novel, the deep voice always steeped in passion and excitement, the rare smile that was not entirely symmetrical and yet perfect just the same.

_I blink as a drop of water lands on my eyelashes and, for a moment, I see my college as it would be in an Impressionist painting. Finishing lectures at 2:30 was always awkward. With no one around, and the wet fog cocooning the campus, it was like walking through Atlantis. Slipping my student ID back into my bag after I've exited the main gate, I decide to walk to Chicken Deluxe in an attempt to reboot my brain after 3 hours of droning lectures._

_I'm not far out when something catches my eyes. _

"_Oh wow, is that a Bentley S2?"_

_I must have spoken much louder than I'd thought because the owner of the car straightens up to look at me._

"_Yes it is," he says with a satisfied smile. "Just finished going through renovations." _

_Jacob would have spent slightly longer admiring the car. I, on the other hand – with just enough knowledge of them to follow Jacob's train of thought and recognize the classics – admire the drop-dead gorgeous man next to it. _

"_Do you know much about cars?" he asks in a deep voice that makes my abdomen clench._

"_Um no," I admit. "I have a friend who has an unhealthy obsession with them though. He is so going to hate me for this."_

_And he was. Especially considering how little respect and attention I was paying to it. _

_If he had ovaries, he'd understand._

"_Can I take a picture?" I ask, then quickly add. "To show my friend, I mean. He won't believe me otherwise."_

"_Go ahead." He gestures to the car with his chin, clearly not fazed by some random chick wanting to take a picture of a _car. _Then again, he's the type who spends millions on one, so really. _

"_Thanks," I say as I snap one, and send it off with a 'be so very jealous…' comment captioned below._

"_I'm Edward by the way." _

_I smile and take his offered hand. "Isabella Swan. But call me Bella."_

* * *

It takes me two weeks to cave.

Angela's right. I can't move on until I've heard the truth and anyway, it's been 6 years. It's not like a few minutes talking to Edward about our relationship is going to turn me into some volatile, hormonal, psychotic ex-fiancée.

Worst case scenario, I'll get an aneurysm from the stress of it all, but I'm genetically predisposed to those so really, it wouldn't be all Edward' fault.

I grip the steering wheel in my unmoving car. I can see Edward's house just ahead, and somehow, the final step from 'car-to-house' is requiring a herculean effort and frying nerve cells in my brain.

_I've just put Renesmee to bed_, Angela texts me, and the distraction is welcome. When I dropped her off a few hours ago, Angela had greeted me with a grim 'good luck'. Another buzz. _I know I said you two were soulmates, but you'd better hold out for some serious groveling. _

I breathe out a chuckle, and then steel myself.

_I can do this._

Standing close enough to the front porch to be shielded from the rain, I ring the doorbell and wait. I can hear the shuffling sounds of commotion just on the other side of the door, and I rub my sweaty palms on my jeans.

The door opens to a surprised Edward.

"Bella."

With a determined frown, I look at him straight in the eyes.

"I want the truth. Not half-lies or misleading hints. I want the whole, untarnished _truth_. You owe me at least that much."

* * *

**A/N I know this was just a filler really, and ended with an awful cliffhanger but bear with me and please, _please_ review? I love hearing from readers :)**


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